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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24925360">Our Humanity</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCrowMaiden/pseuds/TheCrowMaiden'>TheCrowMaiden</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Asexual Character, Communication, Friendship, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Self-Indulgent, Slight internalized acephobia, Touch-Starved, a couple f bombs, ace affirming, daisy controlling her anger, hints of jon pining for martin, lesbian-ace solidarity, non excessive drinking, suggestive comments from background characters</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:40:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,542</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24925360</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCrowMaiden/pseuds/TheCrowMaiden</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There's gossip that Jon and Daisy are "more than" friends, and Jon isn't taking it well. Daisy eventually finds out why, and takes it upon herself to stop the gossip before she and Jon lose their friendship.</p><p>--<br/>Featuring: the headcanon that Daisy is a lesbian, Jon's self-loathing skewing his opinion of his asexuality, and me projecting onto the Archivist (as usual). Lots of self indulgent Daisy and Jon being friends through their trauma.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alice "Daisy" Tonner &amp; Jonathan Sims</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>74</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>282</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Our Humanity</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Can you believe they’re friends?”</p><p>“Yeah, friends with <em>benefits</em>.”</p><p>The hushed pair of comments is spoken into battered Magnus Institute mugs, by a man and woman Daisy doesn’t know. Employees from some other department obviously, although based on their lack of self-preservation Daisy would rule out Artefact Storage. If there’s a smile in their whispers, hidden behind that cheap tea, it’s not a nice one. Still, it’s nowhere near the worst thing Daisy has heard, and if she was on her own she might have spared a quick grimace for the thought of being in that kind of relationship with their resident Archivist. On her own, she wouldn’t have felt rage.</p><p>But she’s with Jon, and it’s Jon’s reaction to the cruel, offhand remark that makes Daisy want to turn chipped ceramic into chipped teeth.</p><p>They had been walking towards the exit when they passed the gossips in the lunchroom, Daisy dragging Jon toward a night of drinks as he pretended to protest in a way that once would have pissed her off; as if he was too busy to go out for normal things—as if he didn’t want to be near normal people. Which...wasn’t actually wrong. But after the Buried, she knew better.</p><p>His arm was slung around Daisy’s waist, as much as he could reach with their difference in height and size. It helped keep him balanced mentally and physically, and Daisy didn’t mind. There was something comforting about the light weight of his arm against the small of her back, and his hand near her hip. She had even joked once, the first time he’d worked up the courage to do it, that he was so scrawny it felt like a rope. He had gone to pull away when she spoke, always so damn unsure, and she had wrestled her voice into finishing the sentiment before he could. It had even sounded casual when she did.</p><p>
  <em>“You heard me: a rope. Like the ones they tie around people to pull them to safety.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Like a…a lifeline?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yeah.”</em>
</p><p>Daisy had tightened her grip around his shoulders and Jon had relaxed, and that was that.</p><p>From then on that was just how they walked together—Daisy’s arm around Jon’s shoulders and Jon’s arm around her waist—keeping them both connected to something besides the hunger that clawed at them. Although they told everyone else it was so it felt less like she was ‘frog-marching him to his death’ when they went to the lunchroom or the pub or wherever else they decided to go. When she had shrugged and pointed out he knew better than anyone how that actually felt, he’d actually laughed. No one else had.</p><p>All this was to say that Jon’s physical engagement in Daisy’s dragging him from his office had been hard won, so when the snide exchange makes Jon drop his arm violently…Daisy sucks in a sharp breath that barely stops the growl she wants to voice instead.</p><p>The colour is gone from his face, leaving his cheeks ashy under his stubble and his shoulders are hunched. There’s a pinched look to his mouth like he’s sick, or about to be. Daisy can almost hear him <em>refuting</em> what the strangers have said as he twists the hem of his jumper in his hands. That he would never, ever. That it’s not like that. Daisy has enough sense to know it’s not personal to her (not that she would care), even if she didn’t remember being told about something similar happening between Basira and Jon once already.</p><p>In fact, Daisy would bet money his reaction would be similar even if the friend in question was <em>Martin. </em>Not that she’s going to dig any deeper into <em>that</em> mess of pining; that’s up to them to work out. Regardless, she doesn’t think Jon’s reaction has anything to do with if he’s interested. Because it’s not disgust that has him trying to strangle his own clothes; it’s something else. Something that, knowing him, is complicated.</p><p>Daisy chooses not to address it this time though, and practically lifts Jon’s feet off the ground as she propels him out the door into the wet London night.</p><p>It’s a decent walk to the pub they frequent. Far enough from the Institute that the eye they feel on the back of their necks eases off, but not so far that either of them tires before they get there. The drizzle around them makes the streetlights hazy, softens the sleepless bruises under Jon’s eyes and makes the air seem cleaner. Or that might just be the result of getting away from the Archives. Daisy lets her arm fall from Jon’s stiff shoulders as they make their way down the sidewalk, not bothering to step behind him so they take up less room; no one bumps into them anyway. Jon is too scarred, gaze too sharp, and Daisy knows her very posture still screams <em>cop</em>. It’s the same combination of things that gets them left alone at whatever table or booth they find in the pub.</p><p>Five minutes into the walk the wind picks up, chilling their faces and causing their breath to show against the night. The drizzle gets heavier. The dark creeps closer. Neither of them have the energy to run for shelter like the other people out are starting to do—not unless something is chasing them, anyway. So they keep trudging along and ignore the weather apart from wiping the rain from their eyes.</p><p>Jon nearly collapses onto a bench with cracked vinyl seating when they finally get indoors, facing the entrance like he always does. He’s actually shivering, and he seems brittle—more so than usual. Daisy doesn’t say anything as she drops her coat over him and goes to pick up what’s typically his first round. Her coat is from<em> before</em>, and while it hangs a little loose on her now it absolutely swamps Jon. A smile almost makes it to her face as she waits at the bar when she looks back to see him half-hidden under the wool.</p><p>She’s not immune to the irony that someone who looks like a poorly-rested scarecrow pulled her out of the Buried, but she remembers the strength in his hand when he led her out. It makes it easier to look after him—without the resentment that he needs taking care of at all—when she remembers that Jon isn’t quite as weak as he seems in the dim pub lighting. She still doesn’t like how hollow he looks though, and practically shoves his drink into his hands.</p><p>They stay for a while, and Jon doesn’t even attempt to keep up with Daisy. Not that he has since the first time, but she’s used to him at least knocking a few back as they talk about whatever has nothing do with what they charitably call their jobs. Instead, he nurses his first drink in silence as they sit there under a crackling yellow bulb, shying away from her touch that he usually leans into with a sort of desperation. Most nights saw him ducking under the protective curve of her arm at a drunkard’s shout the way she ducks into his office, but tonight Jon flinches away from her.</p><p>It makes him seem hunted.</p><p>Daisy doesn’t like it.</p><p>His standoffish behaviour lasts a week—a week of avoidance and stammers and Jon practically oozing into the floor to avoid her. When Monday rolls around and the world inside and outside the Archives remains uneventful though, the pressure seems to lift and Daisy almost jumps when Jon drops down in front of her with a brush in one hand and a statement in the other. She puts his hair up for him as he reads, tying off his bun with one of the several elastics on his wrist, and when the tape recorder clicks off he gives her a smile that looks relieved.</p><p>Just like that, they’re back to whatever they call normal. Scarred hands holding scarred hands so they don’t get separated while taking the Tube, his shoulder digging into her ribcage when she leans over him at his desk to ask what he’s reading this time. Occasional and venomless arguments over their jobs, Jon struggling to help Daisy with her physical therapy without ending up in need of it himself. A handful of silent faces made at each other over an episode of <em>The Archers</em>. They’re not <em>soft</em> together, but whatever they’re doing works.</p><p>(Basira had once said they looked like siblings taking the piss out of each other. Daisy thinks that’s about as good an explanation as any.)</p><p>The next week is a quiet one in a bad way. Recordings are broken by nothing but a stillness that chokes down the dungeon-like hallways and makes any conversation seem loud. Jon has one of his worrying episodes over Martin and gets even more brittle, the exhaustion in his face sliding towards despair. More often than not Daisy walks into his office to find him slumped over his desk, shoulder blades dimpling a rumpled shirt that might have been nice before he wore it four days running. He doesn’t seem to register her entry until she speaks to him, and even then it’s like he doesn’t quite see her past the big picture trying to squash him flat.</p><p>When she finds him unable to actually speak on Saturday, his mouth cracked and dry and his eyes bloodshot, Daisy hauls him to his feet with one hand around his bicep and steers him toward the lunchroom. She’s no homebody but she can make a cup of tea, and that’ll have to do until she can drag Jon down to the pub. She needs to get him out of the Institute. There’s a fizzle of something in her chest as she leads him down the hall, knowing that even as weak as she is without the Hunt she’s still stronger than him. At least it means she can bully him into taking a break.</p><p>And a tea break seems like a good plan—</p><p>—right up until another whisper lances around the corner.</p><p>“I can’t believe they’re still going at it.” The voice is followed by the repetitive clink of a spoon against a mug. “You’d think she would have broken him their first time.”</p><p>“Maybe that’s why he looks like he hasn’t slept,” another voice titters, “must be tiring trying to keep up.”</p><p>“His <em>desk</em> must be tired too.”</p><p>Daisy feels like once upon a time, Jon may have stammered his innocence against such comments. But Jon doesn’t speak to people outside the Archives much anymore, generally tries to pretend he doesn’t exist even there. So he just goes still, his feet rooting him in place as his chest starts to rise and fall with the air he does need to breathe, wild eyes staring towards the lunchroom as if it suddenly has too many doors.</p><p>Her hand tightens on his arm in her usual display of reassurance, but Jon jerks away with a violence he hadn’t even displayed when she put a knife to his throat. Daisy is so shocked that she lets him break away and turn on his heel, watching him stagger back to his office with the disquiet in her chest stirring again. It takes a moment to stamp down the urge to confront whoever has derailed her plans, and she follows after Jon with the intent of ignoring his reaction until she can get him somewhere far away from prying eyes and flapping mouths. Whatever is going on, Peter Lukas doesn’t need to know.</p><p>But that intent goes straight out the window when Daisy finds his office locked.</p><p>Fear spikes through her veins when the doorknob doesn’t move under her hand and for one horrible moment the rushing in her ears sounds like rain. Pressure builds in the air and starts to creep over her skin oh so slowly, like a gentle embrace drawing her in. She closes her eyes, ignores it, ignores the smell of dirt, and <em>squeezes. </em>Gun calluses tighten over the worn brass to the point where it ought to hurt, and with a grunt Daisy twists hard. The cheap internal lock snaps in her grip and she opens the door just enough to slide through, her fingers still strangling the knob until she makes the concentrated effort to let go.</p><p>Inside, Jon is sitting with his mouth hanging open in a vague sort of shock as he stares. He’s still hunched over his desk, head in his hands, but he’s looking up at her with an expression that has surprise and guilt mixed in equal parts with something else she can’t place. Daisy ignores him to take a couple deep breaths, before she shuts the door behind her and jams a chair under the knob. It’s not the barricade she would like, but it’ll slow down anyone human trying to get in. Not that she thinks any of them would risk it.</p><p>Jon’s eyebrows shoot up briefly at her impromptu lock, before they settle back into the lines that seem permanently carved into his forehead. It’s not a really a frown, just the farthest thing from relaxed. It’s like Jon doesn’t remember how to experience an emotion that doesn’t hurt him anymore—and Daisy has to bite down the urge to be mad at him for it. Her anger isn’t for him, even if he did try to shut her out.</p><p>“Daisy, I-I’m sorry.”</p><p>She blinks at his strained voice, and her anger ebbs lower. Whatever she had meant to say gets misplaced for the moment, so she wordlessly grabs the chair not holding the door closed instead. Jon winces as she drags it across the floor to his desk with a drawn-out scrape, and she drops heavily down into it so she can fold her arms on the back and look Jon in the eye. They stare at each other for a minute, Jon ashamed and Daisy contemplative. He looks away first.</p><p>“Why?” She asks finally, voice even.</p><p>“For locking you out. I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t have done that. I know how you feel about being alone—”</p><p>Daisy holds up one hand to cut him off, and it’s a testament to how far they’ve come when he simply stops and doesn’t snap his jaw shut with fear. He just watches her, waiting. She appreciates the apology, she does, but there’s only so much talking she can usually get out of Jon before he gets overwhelmed or sidetracked. Or they get interrupted by something nasty. So Daisy barrels ahead, because as far as she’s concerned there are more important things to discuss.</p><p>“Why are you so upset that people think we’re screwing around?”</p><p>A noise better suited to something being submerged in a bathtub escapes Jon and his glasses slide farther down his nose. It honestly sounds like a cross between an empty kettle and a squeaky toy. He makes a couple more random sounds that aren’t even close to words, gesturing at her with a jerky wave that might be a question mark.</p><p>“That’s not an answer. So let’s try again: why are you so upset that people think we’re screwing around?”</p><p>“B-because I’m, I don’t, I m-mean we’re not.” Jon finally manages to find his voice as he drags his hands through his streaky hair, his stammering ramping up. “I’m n-not interested in you like, l-like that!”</p><p>“Neither am I. Still doesn’t explain why you’re having a fit.”</p><p>“Because I’m not interested in anyone like that! And I don’t like people thinking I am!”</p><p>Jon throws his hands in the air but drops them quickly as his shout echoes. He knots his fingers together, squeezing them until his knuckles start to lose colour—like he’s trying to keep them attached to his body. His own raised voice seems to have actually shocked him. His eyes dance around the office, skittering over Daisy’s face like he’s afraid what he’ll see. A couple grey hairs are snarled around his shaking fingers, pulled loose from his outburst, his messy bun completely undone.</p><p>Regardless of all the times she’s brushed it out for him, Daisy is surprised once again by how long Jon’s hair really is. She watches his bangs mask the expression too mixed to be readable and she briefly wonders why he doesn’t leave it down to hide behind more often. It certainly makes him look less transparent.</p><p>A floorboard creaks when Daisy shifts. There’s silence unbroken by even the low crinkle of tapes as she really studies Jon. The dull green of his jumper matches half of the book covers stacked on the shelf at his back: like it’s just one more way his work is trying to consume him. All his limbs are tensed. His glasses are smudged so badly she doubts he can see through them, and she reaches out to tug them off his nose to wipe them carefully on her sleeve. His face goes rapidly mottled with a bad combination of what’s probably embarrassment mixed with apprehension, and things finally click.</p><p>“So…no one?” She asks.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Does anyone…?”</p><p>“Georgie knows, of course. I-I-I think Melanie? Maybe Basira.”</p><p>“Mm. Why does it bother you so much?”</p><p>“Why not?” The animation visibly burns out of Jon, the fear and anxiety draining away to leave a tired man crumpled at a desk for a job that might kill him and has already tried. He props his head on one hand as he meets Daisy’s eyes finally. It’s so damn hard to remember how powerful he still is under it all, when he’s like this. “I don’t want M—I don’t want people to misconstrue how I <em>am</em>. And it feels violating, to have people assume I do those kinds of things when I never have and never want to. But if I tell them that?”</p><p>Jon’s mouth twists, and his lips thin into the horrible knife-edge smile he saves for when he really feels like The Archivist. “It’ll just be one more thing that makes me less human to them.”</p><p>It takes every ounce of Daisy’s will not to snap right there.</p><p>With all they've gone through, with all they are, how dare the world make him feel broken because of <em>that</em>. How dare it. She barely swallows the need to slam her hands down on the desk and loudly express how incredibly not okay any of that is. Her nails, less ragged now that she and Jon are on each other’s cases about their habit of biting them, dig into her palms to keep them still. Because as justified as she thinks her feelings are, lashing out will only harm Jon. No matter how strange it is to say after everything that happened in the beginning, Jon is her friend. She isn’t going to hurt him with fear. Not if she can help it.</p><p>Forcing a long, hard exhale through her nose, Daisy manages to resist the urge to take action. Breathe in for five, hold, and breathe out. Repeat. Rage still pounds behind her eyes, but she shoves it down to a place where it can stew into something approaching helpful action before she speaks.</p><p>“Out of everything you’ve done or can do, that doesn’t even make the list of what makes you less human. No arguments.” Daisy holds up her hand again when Jon opens his mouth to disagree, fixing him with her best <em>I-am-still-armed-don’t-fuck-with-me</em> look. “I mean it. Don’t even try.”</p><p>But Jon, being Jon, tries anyway.</p><p>“You can’t honestly believe people will just, just drink their tea and ignore that kind of thing. They can’t even comprehend a man and woman being friends much less...that.”</p><p>“So ignore them instead.”</p><p>“Hm. That’s easy for you to say.”</p><p>Daisy bites her tongue before she says something she doesn’t actually want to say, reminding herself that her anger is not directed at him. Because in a way, he’s right. In a way, the gossips in the lunchroom are just another potential threat to Jonathan Sims, and there’s no way he can fully ignore that. It’s kind of his thing, after all. Even if those employees don’t physically harm him, Elias or Lukas might do something to them for being a nuisance and that would just cripple Jon with additional guilt.</p><p>She sighs at the realization, deflating a bit like he had earlier, and Jon musters up a wry smile for her as they face each other from their respective slumped postures.</p><p>“Well, screw them,” Daisy says at last, “and not like that.”</p><p>The addition is for Jon’s benefit when he makes a face, and she’s rewarded by another of his attempts at a smile. When she stands and offers him her hand, he actually takes it; and the two of them wordlessly grab their coats. They don’t go anywhere particular that night. Just wherever their feet take them around London until Daisy walks him to his station, and gives him a rough squeeze of the shoulder as he heads into the carriage and off to the flat she sometimes wonders why he still has.</p><p>A cool breeze ruffles Daisy’s collar as she pointedly avoids going back to the Institute, wandering the streets as she picks at her earlier rage to see if there’s an idea hidden within it. Something to keep her and Jon’s friendship established as just that. Something to make it clear that no matter how many times they walked somewhere almost connected at the hip, their nearby body parts were very much uninvolved with each other. It's no one's business, but...</p><p>Someone laughs loudly nearby, and a group of teenagers tumble out of a small shop, giggling and laughing as they jostle each other while attaching their purchases to backpacks and coats and hats. They’re dressed in a variety of fashions and are loud with nothing but happiness, so Daisy internally writes them off as harmless and moves to avoid getting clipped by any over-excited waving arms. But in stepping aside to let them pass, Daisy gets a good look at one of the badges a boy is pinning to his friend’s shirt.</p><p>It’s a rainbow flag.</p><p><em>Hm</em>.</p><p>With a quick pivot, she walks towards the shop the teens exited and pushes the door open. It’s a small bookstore, the kind that might be described as ‘quirky’ and sells everything from tarot cards to knickknacks to actual books. A small display near the back counter features more rainbows, and Daisy squeezes through the cramped aisles to get to it. Most of the items at eye-level display the typical pattern of colours that runs red-through-purple, most with an extra black and brown bar at the top.</p><p>But some are different colours and some are only four stripes, and some are three, and soon Daisy is half-crouched as she reads labels and info cards attached to the various pieces of merchandise that fill the case. After about half an hour of deciding (and one nervous comment from a staff member that they were closing soon), Daisy makes her purchase. The little paper bag that smells of some sort of incense crinkles in her hand as she walks home, her strides not as strong as they were before the coffin but stronger than they’ve been all day.</p><p>She has a <em>plan</em>.</p><p>So the next morning she sails into the Institute with purpose, bare arms swinging with her usual quiet confidence as she times her entrance to when the majority of the staff haven’t wandered off to their posts yet. They’re all practiced at not actually looking at the misfits that make up the Archive team, and Daisy makes her way through without much notice. When she finds Jon trying to make himself small as he edges past the others toward the stairs, she throws an arm around him with a flash of her teeth—just enough to catch him off guard. And his loud, breathy little noise of shock when it does draws more than a few looks.</p><p>Which is <em>exactly</em> what Daisy wants.</p><p>Because as she stands there grinning, with Jon tucked against her new tank top emblazoned with the lesbian pride flag, the entire foyer stutters to a complete and grinding halt.</p><p>Melanie is the first to break the silence, letting loose an overdramatic wolf-whistle. Basira sighs next, fondly rolling her eyes, and Martin looks…relieved. The other staff look like they’re having regrets. A lot of them.</p><p>Daisy is fucking delighted.</p><p>Outing Jon without his consent was never an option, but outing herself to shut folks up? Daisy can’t think of anything that’s less of an issue to her. It isn’t like she ever made a big secret of it, anyway.</p><p>From where he’s pressed into her side, she can feel Jon start to shake. When she glances over to see him biting his lip hard as a smile threatens to overtake his usually tired features, she pushes him towards the Archives and out of sight. She only manages to get him halfway down the stairs before he actually starts laughing, a spluttering little chuckle that echoes in the hallway and makes Daisy smile in return.</p><p>Because she really doubts the Fears are homophobic after all, so it’s not like they’re going to get any worse. And normal people just don’t scare her. In fact, they seem rather scared of <em>her </em>instead<em>. </em>She didn’t even have to pull a weapon on them either, unless you counted her arms. She shares that last thought with Jon, waiting until he almost has his amusement in check, just to watch his control slip and a new round of laughter bubble up.</p><p>There are no more whispers in the lunchroom, and Jon’s arm is back around Daisy’s waist where it belongs when they go out. A couple employees find themselves on the receiving end of pointed letters about human rights and workplace tolerance from Peter Lukas’ assistant, and Daisy takes to randomly wearing her new tank top simply because she likes it. She even goes back to the odd little shop to buy a couple spares when she finds out how comfortable they are for doing her PT.</p><p>For Jon, she buys the smallest lapel pin she can find. It’s coloured with what the clerk had said was the ‘ace pride’ flag, shaped like a book and declaring ‘I’d rather be reading’ in silver font across the front. Jon’s hand closes over it with a smile more honest than he usually musters up when she gives it to him, and his thanks is in a voice that’s <em>soft</em>.</p><p>He never wears it, as Daisy expected, and he never even takes it out of its packaging. Instead he puts it in an empty tea tin from the lunchroom—hiding it along with a post-it note from Martin that Daisy pointedly doesn’t mention—and tucks it into his desk drawer between a jar of suspicious ashes and a single human rib. It sits there with the grisly souvenirs of Jon’s life, and sometimes Daisy sees him open the drawer to smile at it.</p><p>A little bit of normal in the middle of everything that isn’t.</p><p>Just like him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Jon being asexual is really important to me, as is his friendship with Daisy. They kind of combined into this without my meaning to. I hope people enjoy it &lt;3 comments and kudos really do mean the world.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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